


Revenge is Childish

by Books_and_Cats_and_Coffee (orphan_account)



Series: Sladiver Week 2019 [4]
Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: M/M, haha were you expecting a good fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-27
Updated: 2019-09-27
Packaged: 2020-10-29 02:41:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20789246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/Books_and_Cats_and_Coffee
Summary: Slade decides to leave Oliver tied to a chair and recover their target without conflict. This doesn't go over so well with the archer. Or rather; Oliver knows exactly how to handle his mercenary boyfriend.(Sladiver Week Day 4: Jealously/Possession)





	Revenge is Childish

He had gotten himself into a mess, Oliver knew it. He flexed his fingers behind him, testing the bonds. Dislocating his thumbs wouldn’t do him any good, his forearms had been tied to the frame of the chair as well. His shoulders had long since gone numb, a mercy really, as it meant he didn’t have to feel the shooting pain any longer. He dropped his head back, annoyed at himself and his predicament. It shouldn’t have been a challenging mission.

One sketchy fishing business, a cover for an illegal smuggling ring. Nothing serious. He was supposed to get in, grab envelope, shoot the place up a little to get the police’s attention, then get out. But now here he was, tied to a fucking chair in an empty room. He gave another jerk at his bonds, managing to hop the chair several inches forward.

“Having fun, I see,” he could hear the amusement, even under that mask. Oliver glared at Slade, immediately ending his undignified hopping, stilling in his seat and clearing his throat. The bonds were no looser now than they had been earlier.

“You just going to stand there?” The archer asked waspishly. The Australian, leaning against the doorframe, looked idly down at his own hand, making a miniscule and wholly unnecessary adjustment to it. He was definitely enjoying himself far too much.

“Well now,” Slade said slowly. “I came here to collect some information, and I was expecting to run into a bit of _green_ trouble.” Oliver glared at him furiously, just barely resisting from jumping the chair again to try to get closer. “I should apologize, but I can’t just let this opportunity fly me by.” Incredulous, Oliver almost forgot to speak as Slade languidly straightened and started towards him, then, promptly, straight by Oliver and on towards the door on the other side.

“Sla-oh _fuck you_!” Oliver hissed after him. “Slade I swear to god don’t you even think about getting that envelope.” He’d been hired then, of course. Paid by someone to collect the envelope before someone else did. Had Oliver not been captured, he would have easily gotten to the envelope first. Little good that did him now. The Australian did pause.

“I really don’t think you should be giving orders in your position, kid,” he said, and Oliver was close enough to see the way his eyes flicked up and down him. The archer almost stuck out his tongue before he refused to let himself act that immature. He yanked up against the bonds, just as before, it didn’t help. “Although,” Slade continued. “If it makes you feel any better, you look fantastic. Really, those ropes do something for you.”

“I fucking hate you,” Oliver was still whispering loudly, his words undoubtedly not actually fiery or angry enough for what most people would expect. After all, most people saw them as moral and logical enemies, the vigilante and the mercenary. What else were they to each other.

“I’ll be back,” Slade promised him, and this time, Oliver rolled his eyes, maturity be damned. The Australian left, ignoring the archer’s hissed calls of his name. Left alone again, Oliver slumped back, annoyed. He couldn’t very well let Slade leave with the envelope, even if he was Oliver’s enemy slash significant other slash partner slash whatever. He had no desire to let Slade get away with this.

Unfortunately, quiet as their exchange had been, it hadn’t gone unnoticed. The guard who came in was tall, broad shouldered and well built, his brown eyes looking about suspiciously before going to Oliver, walking behind him to check the knots, Oliver felt the man’s hand on his arm, checking the tightness. It didn’t seem like a good chance, but fortunately, Oliver’s break came just a short time later, when another man came through the doorway

Vladimir Chekov, they’d met in Russia that many years ago, not exactly friends, but not quite enemies either. Granted, Chekov had been on an entirely different side back then. Russians, Oliver reflected they were too easy. Chekov spoke to the guard, asking him what was going on, and the man replied there was nothing, Oliver translated their words quickly in his mind. It was only a moment later when Chekov sent away the guard. He turned to Oliver, a victorious smirk on his face.

“It has been a long time, Mr. Queen,” he started casually, pacing closer. Oliver didn’t let any of it bother him.

“Maybe too long,” he replied.

“But now you are here.” Chekov spread his hands wide. “Tied and at my mercy, what would you suggest I do with you, Mr. Queen?” He asked, pacing around the chair. “I cannot simply let you go.” Oliver almost laughed to himself, he was making this far too easy.

“You have me tied to a chair and you’re asking what you should do with me?” He repeated the question, twisting the wording just fractionally and managing to catch sight of Chekov as he paced around in front of the archer again. Oliver met his gaze evenly, tipping his head just a fraction to the side. “Here I thought that was up to you,” he paused just for a second, knowing he had Chekov’s attention. “It is whatever you want.” And right there, Chekov didn’t have a reply. He stopped pacing, staring at Oliver with a sudden curious focus.

“And I was told you were some dangerous vigilante,” he cooed. “Do you often get yourself tied into chairs?” He came a little closer and Oliver reminded himself to stay relaxed. “You enjoy it that much don’t you?” Oliver made a show of looking over the other man.

“I think I could enjoy myself sometimes,” he said not having to speak loudly to be heard. It was much more effective, anyway, his whisper drawing Chekov in even closer. Really, Oliver reflected, he deserved some applause for this. He lifted his chin fractionally. “You seem like you know how to give orders…maybe you have some for me.”

There was a deafening crash, and Oliver ducked his head down, Slade was a remarkable aim with his sword, but even so, the archer didn’t want to risk it. Chekov snatched his gun out of his holster, turning on the Australian to fire but Slade was so much quicker. He was on the ground, blood pooling around his chest before he could even pull the trigger.

There was obvious anger _radiating _off of Slade as he stalked behind Oliver sawing away the ropes and reaching for the archer. Oliver stood without his help, rolling his stiff limbs. The Australian glared at him, a startling contrast to how he had acted some minutes ago.

“What the hell was that?” he demanded; Oliver raised both eyebrows curiously.

“What the hell was what? I was just working my way out before someone snatched up that envelope.” It was anything but a subtle reminder, and Slade frowned at him, not appeased.

“And so you decided to fucking throw yourself on the first man who walked into the room?” he pressed. Typically, they had rules. Oliver didn’t want to feel owned, Slade respected that. But Slade had just stumbled on Oliver openly flirting on a Russian who was clearly an enemy by both their standards. It had probably shocked him a bit to say the least.

“Well, for the record, he was the second man to walk into the room,” Oliver corrected Slade. “The first one was a guard and I mean he was pretty damn hot but I have this thing about authority-” Shouts echoed from hallway and Slade grabbed Oliver’s arm to pull him into a run.

The archer just managed to snag his quiver and bow as they passed it. They left the warehouse at a sprint, shots punching through the air around them, sirens wailing ever closer. Following Slade, Oliver scaled the chain link fence around the docks, dropping and rolling to break his fall. They had barely made it into safe shadows when Slade ambushed Oliver. Somehow, he had managed to take his mask off in record time, and when he kissed Oliver, the archer stumbled, back connecting with the side of a building, one hand going behind Slade’s neck to stabilize himself. When they parted Oliver gasped in air, abruptly realizing just how lightheaded he was now that the distraction had passed. Slade was still frowning.

“Oh and also,” Oliver remarked casually as though he hadn’t just lost all his breath. “I have this partner who left me tied up in a chair, and that’s not really going to win any boyfriend points, especially because he was taking an envelope that was _very_ important to me. And I just started thinking, hey, maybe Chekov would be a little more considerate.” Of course, he was joking; Chekov had been a vicious ass on many levels. A criminal and deserter, Oliver didn’t feel much remorse. Slade glared at him for a moment longer before reaching into a small pack, withdrawing the envelope and holding it out. Oliver took it, smiling sweetly at the Australian. This time, he was the one to lean forward, pressing his lips to Slade, tasting the other man, nipping once at his bottom lip. “Thank you.”

“You are a royal pain in the arse,” Slade informed him, but he reached up to pull Oliver’s hood over his face, making sure the vigilante’s identity was hidden. Oliver put both arms over his shoulders.

“I know,” he said. “But I’m also a very grateful pain the arse,” he nipped teasingly at the side of Slade’s jaw. “Who also just happens to have some time off tonight.” He left his lips next to the Australian’s ear, murmuring his next words. “So why don’t I show you just how grateful I am?”

**Author's Note:**

> This fic will definitely suffer supreme betaing in the morning but I am really tired and need to go mourn the absence of my wife and just be an over dramatic gay. This was originally going to be a season six fic (for the other prompt) that was literally 4k words of just Oliver and Slade being dumb and wandering around an airport. With Oliver laughing at Slade's 'citizen disguise' and both of them making puns based off of whatever they saw.


End file.
